


(If I Made You Feel) Second Best

by WrongRemedy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things changed on the night that Jenny died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(If I Made You Feel) Second Best

**Author's Note:**

> Note/Warning: Since this is obviously set while the gang is still in high school, Buffy IS underage within the context of this story. There are admissions of feelings between Buffy and Giles, and they sleep in the same bed. However, there is no sexual contact between them.

Things changed on the night that Jenny died.

When Rupert entered Jenny’s home, as they’d earlier agreed he would, he was delighted to find it set up like a romantic dream. That delight quickly turned to horror as he entered her room to see her lying on the bed. Jenny was waiting for him, just as she’d implied she would be. Only, unfortunately, her run-in with Angelus ensured that she would never know that Rupert had made it to see her. The world blacked out for one long, terrible moment, and when Rupert returned to himself, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He rang the police, gathered the necessary equipment from his own home, and set out to find Angelus. 

-

In what felt to him in his grief like the blink of an eye, Buffy pulled him from the burning factory and threw her punch, then collapsed with him on the ground, clinging to him as the two of them both cried. 

“You can’t leave me,” she sobbed, and Rupert had never felt more guilty, more sorry in all of his life. 

He had loved Jenny, there was no kidding himself about that. She had been representative of so much for him. The potential for happiness, for normalcy, for companionship in a world that was, by necessity, dark and lonely for a Watcher. Yes, he had loved her. But with Buffy holding on to him as though he was her only saving grace, he suddenly remembered why love for anyone but his Slayer would ever and always come second. 

As he gathered her closer and helped her stand up along with him, he vowed to himself that he would never make her feel this way again. His destiny had always been to care for Buffy. He would not let himself forget that again. 

“Let’s get you home, love.” He murmured, and they began to walk away from the building. Buffy shivered as they walked, and when he attempted to guide her down a street that would lead them closer to her home, she suddenly went tense and resisted, pulling slightly away from him. 

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” He asked, concerned at the sudden change in her demeanor. He peered down at her face and was dismayed to see the guarded expression she wore and the way she refused to meet his eyes. 

“I don’t want to go home,” she muttered, staring off to the side rather than looking at him. Before he could formulate a response, she shook her head almost angrily and huffed. “No, that’s not true. I wouldn’t mind going home, it’s just…”

There she trailed off and sighed again, tucking a strand of hair behind her head and working her jaw before finally looking him in the eyes, to his relief. 

“It’s just…what?” He prompted softly, attempting to keep his expression open. Her gaze never left his as she answered. 

“It’s just that I don’t want you going away once we make it there,” she admitted, and Rupert again felt a pang in his heart. 

“Buffy,” he said soothingly, “while it’s true that I have been through quite a lot in the last 24 hours, I assure you that I will be alright. You have nothing to worry about, and you will see me again at school on Monday morning. All will be well, as it always is.” 

“I’m not worried about _you_!” Buffy snapped, and Rupert blinked in surprise before she sighed again and said, more quietly, “That’s not what I meant. Of course I’m worried about you. I’d have to be the uber-bitch not to be. But that’s not why I don’t want you to leave. I know you can take care of yourself for the most part.” 

Rupert almost broke in with a retort to the last bit of her sentence, but after replaying his actions from the previous few hours, he realized that Buffy did have a point in regards to his occasional penchant for recklessness and consequent need for rescue. He kept his mouth shut and allowed her to finish. 

“But…” she continued, moving closer to him once again and laying a hand on his jacket, just over his heart. “I could have lost you tonight, Giles. Sometimes I really feel like you’re the only person in the world I can always count on, and that almost went away in one second while I wasn’t there to stop it.” 

As she spoke, her voice took on more and more emotion, until at the end she sounded as though she was likely to begin crying again at any moment. Her grip tightened incrementally on his jacket as well, her hand squeezing the tweed tight within her grasp, as if she thought he might disappear before her eyes if she couldn’t feel him. He brought his own hand up to cover hers at his chest, coaxing her into loosening her grip slightly, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand as he looked into her eyes. 

“Okay,” he said quietly, reaching up with his other hand to straighten his glasses. “It’s alright, darling. I-I understand.” 

Buffy sighed in relief, and Rupert gathered her close to him again, laying his cheek against her hair as her arms came around his waist. 

“I am so sorry, Buffy,” he said as he hugged her. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, echoing words she had already said to him once. “Be Giles.” She pulled away from his embrace, locking eyes with him again. “And most importantly, don’t be somewhere where I’m not. At least not now.” 

Rupert sighed. The logistics of this situation were not going to be wise, but he was simply not willing to do anything right then besides exactly what Buffy asked of him. Checking his watch, he came to a decision. 

“It is still relatively early, all things considered. I propose that you call your mother, tell her you studied late at the library and lost track of time, and ask her if you can stay with Willow. From there, we can simply go back to my apartment.” 

Buffy nodded, looking around. “Sounds like a plan to me,” she said, a hint of her let’s-get-down-to-business tone returning now that she knew she wouldn’t be away from him for the night. “Now let’s find a payphone and hit the road. This night has been more than exhausting for everyone, and I for one am ready to sleep.” 

-

They entered his apartment in silence, Rupert gesturing Buffy into the sitting room before stepping across the threshold himself, closing and locking the door behind him. When he turned back to face her, Buffy was idly examining a small decorative item on his end table, running her fingertips over it gently. It looked as if she was worried about disturbing the item, but was incapable of entirely resisting the urge to touch it nonetheless. Rupert swallowed heavily. She was so delicate, his Slayer. Nigh indestructible in so many ways, yet utterly fragile in others. It pained him, and stirred protective instincts in him that went beyond even those naturally ingrained in a Watcher. 

When Buffy turned her attention back to him, Rupert quickly ducked his head, willing his cheeks not to color as he straightened his glasses nervously. 

“Uh-“ he started, scrubbing a hand through his hair absently and then allowing it to come briefly to rest on the back of his neck. “Um, p-perhaps I should get you some clothes. Surely you won’t want to sleep in that.” 

Buffy shrugged as he gestured to her outfit, covered in various sorts of grime and made of rather heavy materials. “I can, if you don’t have anything,” she stated nonchalantly. “I’ve already invaded your house; I wouldn’t want to be even more of a burden.” 

Rupert had always hated that self-deprecating turn her voice sometimes took on, and he especially didn’t want her using it now, after all that had happened that night. 

“Buffy,” he said, voice firm but quiet, designed to get her attention but never to startle her. After confirming that she was listening, he continued, “It’s no trouble at all.” 

She graced him with the smallest shadow of what could have been classed a smile; a small upturn at the corner of her lips, and Rupert returned the look before nodding and heading up the stairs.

“Right,” he said, “I’ll get you something, and you can, of course, feel free to use any of the necessary facilities, o-or help yourself to anything.” 

As he spoke, he rifled through his belongings until he finally located an old, soft Oxford sweatshirt and an unopened package of boxer shorts. He removed a pair of dark blue shorts, gathered the sweatshirt, and returned downstairs, holding the items out to her. 

“The uh – th-the shorts a-are new,” he stuttered, mentally cursing the way he sounded so unsettled when he spoke that way. “I wouldn’t have offered you an old pair, of course.” 

At that, Buffy actually did smile, if a bit sadly. 

“Thank you, Giles,” she said softly, looking at him and hugging the clothes to her chest slightly. “They’re perfect.” 

Rupert smiled as well, the protective beast within him temporarily placated at the thought of having provided for her. Buffy stepped around him carefully.

“I’ll just go put these on, then,” she said.

“Yes, of course!” He responded, nodding. Once she had closed the bathroom door behind her, Rupert returned back upstairs to locate his own sleepwear – choosing an undershirt and long pants rather than his usually preferred shorts. Despite, or perhaps because of, the range of emotions he knew they were both feeling towards each other at the moment, his sense of propriety told him that being slightly more covered than usual was not likely to be a bad idea.

By the time Buffy exited the bathroom, having washed her face, tied her hair back, and changed into the offered clothes, Rupert was waiting in the kitchen with two glasses of water. He scooted one of the glasses closer to her as she laid her pile of clothes on the counter.

“Water?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance I could get something stronger and try to forget about what happened tonight?” 

Rupert did his best to give her a disapproving look, though considering how close he had come to pouring himself quite a few glasses of scotch in just the short time it took her to get changed, he couldn’t really say that he blamed her for asking. 

“As eager as I myself would be to follow that particular route, I believe it would be best for us both to remain in control of all our faculties for a while. Don’t you agree?” 

Buffy rolled her eyes, but lifted the glass of water to her lips nonetheless.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she muttered, sounding none too pleased about the fact. Rupert steadfastly refused to apologize – she was a minor after all, Slayer or not. 

After quickly draining his own glass of water, Rupert reached across the counter and gathered her laundry. “I’ll just throw these in the wash, then.” 

“Oh, no,” Buffy protested, starting to follow him out of the kitchen. “You really don’t have to-”

“Buffy,” he interrupted, holding up a hand and inclining his head towards her, giving her a look. 

“I know,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s no trouble at all.” 

Rupert smiled slightly. “Precisely.” As he loaded her clothes into the washing machine, he called out to her. “Since I know you’re quite tired, feel free to head off to bed whenever you like. I’ll be sleeping on the couch, and I have an extra blanket downstairs already, so you won’t have to worry about being disturbed.” 

There was no response from anywhere in the house, and Rupert frowned. When he reentered the kitchen, he found her standing at the counter, running her fingertips around the rim of her water glass, looking distracted. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked, barely stopping himself from adding an endearment to the end of the question. She looked lost and sad yet again when she looked up at him and his protective instinct from earlier stirred once more. Buffy’s arms came up to cross over her torso, this time looking less like a gesture of frustration or anger, and more as if she were attempting to hug herself. 

“No,” she started, “I-I mean, yes, everything is…no. Look, I don’t know, okay!” Buffy threw her hands in the air and then slicked them both across the top of her head, clearly frustrated about something. “Giles, please don’t hate me.” 

Utterly bewildered, Rupert shook his head. “Why on earth would I hate you?” he asked blankly. Buffy sighed, chewing on her lip. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. 

“I don’t want you to sleep downstairs,” she stated quietly, studiously avoiding making eye contact with him. 

“Buffy,” he said, making his way around the counter to lay his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders. “I’ve told you, it’s no trouble. I’m perfectly comfortable sleeping on the couch. You mustn’t feel badly about putting me out of my bed for one night.” 

Buffy made a noise that sounded like some sort of mixture of a snort and a sob, alarming him further and causing him to retract his touch. 

“It’s not that I feel _guilty_. Geez, what are you? Missing-the-point-man?” 

Rupert simply stared at her, confused, until she sighed. She brought her hands up and began examining her nails, the long sleeves of his sweatshirt mostly covering her hands. “If you sleep downstairs, I won’t really know you’re there. If I wake up in the middle of the night and think you’re gone, I won’t be able to see you or reach for you, and I might totally wig. And that kind of defeats the whole purpose of me coming over here.” 

Rupert’s brain ground to a halt, his mouth opening and closing ineffectually as he searched for something to say. 

“Buffy…darling, I…well, surely you’re not suggesting that we…I-I mean clearly you know that it wouldn’t be wise for us to…”

“Ask me if I care,” Buffy said, cutting him off. Her voice held an air of challenge that he knew all too well. He sighed, removing his glasses, rubbing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to regain his bearings somewhat. Unfortunately for him, no one was as good at keeping his composure ruffled as his Slayer. 

“I’m not asking you to fuck me, Giles,” Buffy snapped, somewhat irritably, and Rupert looked at her incredulously. 

“Buffy!” he cried, but found himself at a loss for how to follow the exclamation. Buffy simply raised her eyebrows at him, and Rupert knew he was defeated before he was even given a chance to build his defense. 

“Alright,” he said, finally. “I’ve seen what horrible things can happen when I don’t allow you to remain my priority. I’ll not deny you this, not if you truly need it.” 

“Excellent,” Buffy chirped, turning heel and beginning to walk from the kitchen into the living room, presumably on her way to the loft, where he would be expected to follow. After another brief second of hesitation and mild panic, he did, trailing behind her enough to shut the larger lights off throughout the house. 

By the time he made it to the loft, Buffy was already sitting in his bed, close to one side with the covers over her lap. Rupert fought down a swelling wave of panic, cleared his throat, and laid his glasses aside before going around to the other side of the bed. 

“Is it okay that I’m on this side?” she asked as he walked. “I can switch if you want. It’s your bed after all.” 

“That it is,” he responded, then realized he hadn’t actually answered her question. “And no, th-this will be fine. This is, ahem, usually the side I sleep on when I have, ah…company, shall we say.” 

Rupert looked over in time to see Buffy flush slightly at his words, staring down at the covers. “Oh,” she said quietly, then looked up at him with an exaggerated cheerfulness. “Guess I chose pretty well then, huh?” 

Rupert smiled tensely. “That you did,” he answered before finally gathering all his courage and climbing in to bed alongside her. 

As soon as he was settled in a seated position on the mattress, Buffy slid down to lay on her side, turning to face him with her head on the pillow on her side of the bed. Rupert turned away from her briefly to set an alarm. 

“So what time are we waking up, then?” Buffy asked cheerfully. 

“Hmm?” Rupert responded distractedly before processing her question. “Oh, um, I-I’m not entirely sure yet. Just then I was setting an alarm to remind myself to put your laundry in to dry in a little while. I apologize in advance if it wakes you.” 

“No worries,” Buffy responded, eyes drifting shut as she settled further down into the bed. “I can fall back asleep pretty easily as long as I’m woken up by something besides nightmares or physical attacks.” She inhaled deeply and smiled slightly against his pillow. Rupert felt his heart thudding somewhat irregularly at that, and sighed inwardly at what a hopeless fool he was as he himself settled down, laying on his back and staring at the dark ceiling. 

As Rupert attempted to clear his mind enough to sleep – he really was exhausted – he couldn’t help but think of Jenny. He was unsure entirely of his belief in Heaven, but nonetheless found himself wanting to believe that if he cast his thoughts out to Jenny, she would hear him somehow. Mentally, he begged her forgiveness, apologizing thoroughly for putting her through so much, and for being unable to save or avenge her in the end. He thought of telling her how much he regretted all that they never got a chance to do together, and of reminding her of how truly beautiful he had found her to be. He thought of how he hoped she understood why Buffy needed to be his priority now that Jenny was gone, and that she wouldn’t be upset with him for regretting the effects that his spending time with Jenny had had on his Slayer. Mostly, he prayed that she was happy now, and that she would remain so forever after. 

Just as he was coming to the end of his mental “message” to Jenny, the alarm he had set went off. He reached over quickly to turn it off, hoping not to wake Buffy if he could move quickly enough. A glance at his Slayer confirmed that, though she had a somewhat perturbed look on her sleeping face, she was nonetheless still slumbering. Rupert quietly climbed from the bed and walked softly down the stairs to set her things going in the dryer. When he climbed back into bed and lay down on his back once more, Buffy stirred, murmuring in her sleep. 

“Giles?” she asked, eyes remaining closed. Her face took on a pained expression in sleep, and she repeated his name more loudly, as if she was calling out to warn him of some danger. Before her nightmares could work her into a frenzy, Rupert reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“Buffy, it’s alright,” he said as her eyes snapped open. “It’s alright, love, I’m here.” 

Buffy sighed in relief, the panic draining from her eyes as she realized it had only been a dream. 

“See?” She asked, “This is why you had to sleep here too. I told you.” 

Rupert smiled. “You did. And you were right. Very good.”

Buffy beamed as she scooted slightly closer to him under the covers. Suddenly, she began to look sheepish. It was difficult to ascertain in the dark, but Rupert would have sworn she may have been blushing again. 

“Would it be okay if I kind of…kept in contact with you while I slept? Just so that maybe next time you won’t have to wake me all the way up, I’d just know you were there.” 

Rupert didn’t even bother attempting to formulate a verbal response, simply scooted slightly closer to her as well, angling his body slightly towards her and opening his arms in invitation. Buffy quickly determined what he was implying, and maneuvered herself to lay nearly atop him, with one of her arms on his chest, hand curled near his heart, and her head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured, and Rupert kissed the top of her head gently in response. 

“You’re welcome, love,” he whispered, reveling in the level of safety and comfort they were both obviously gaining from this arrangement. At his words, Buffy’s mouth quirked in a small, sleepy smile. 

“I’m liking these petnames,” she murmured groggily, the nearness of sleep removing what little verbal filter she usually had. “A girl could get used to being talked to like that.” 

Rupert smiled as well, and briefly tightened the arm he had around her, squeezing her gently despite knowing that even his greatest effort wouldn’t hurt her. 

“If they bring you any measure of happiness,” he assured quietly, “I shall endeavor to use them as often as possible from now on.” 

Buffy hummed contentedly but said nothing further, and in only a few short minutes her breathing deepened in sleep and one of her legs became entangled with one of his as she shifted unconsciously to move even closer to him. The pleasant pressure of her body against his, combined with his physical and mental exhaustion as well as the knowledge that he and Buffy were both safe, alive, and together, finally allowed Rupert to drift off himself. His last thought before sleep overtook him was that he hadn’t set a morning alarm after all. 


End file.
